


Baby Steps

by yalublyutebya



Series: Guided By A Beating Heart [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Dating, M/M, Missing Persons, Past Torture, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:57:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalublyutebya/pseuds/yalublyutebya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Charlie have their first (sort of) fight, as well as a couple of other firsts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Steps

"You will tell me what you know," the voice says, low and insistent.

Sherlock says nothing and the pipe lands on his back once more. He bites back on a scream, hands wrapped tightly around the chains as he tries to ground himself. He sways slightly and the man grabs him by the hair, holding him still.

"I’m only just getting started. You’d best tell me what you know now."

Sherlock gives a weak shake of his head and the man snarls. Sherlock barely has time to brace himself before the pipe tears the skin of his back apart again. A strangled noise makes it past his lips, despite his best efforts. The man hits him again, no doubt just to hear him cry out, and he swallows around a scream.

"So stubborn."

The pipe lands on the skin of his already-ruined back again and he can’t hold it in any longer, a hoarse cry ripped from him.

"Sherlock. Sherlock."

He jolts awake, sweating, as a hand shakes him by the shoulder. Charlie is looking down at him with concern and Sherlock closes his eyes, surprised to find himself close to tears. He rolls away and sits up, almost expecting his back to protest. He has to take several deep breaths before he can speak.

"M’sorry if I woke you," he gets out gruffly.

"Hey." Charlie shifts across the bed, sitting to the side of him. He reaches out to lay a hand on Sherlock’s back and Sherlock flinches unconsciously. Charlie’s frown intensifies, but he draws his hand back. "You alright?"

Sherlock nods, not trusting himself to speak - not sure he can lie convincingly in this state. He’s shaking slightly - abominable, he’d thought he was over his Serbian experience. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sherlock shakes his head and sees Charlie purse his lips. "Do you want some water? Tea?"

"Water, please," he says. What he really needs is a moment to get himself together.

Charlie rolls away and climbs off the bed, slipping quietly out of the room. Sherlock sags, burying his head in his hands. His back tingles with the memories, even though it’s been over two years. It must have been his most recent case, the young man found dead with whip marks on his back. He shudders and forces himself to his feet. 

He walks to the wardrobe, pulling open the mirrored door and freezing. He can hear Charlie dawdling in the kitchen on purpose and he draws his T-shirt over his head, turning so he can see his back in the mirror. There are only a few faded silver marks left, faint reminders of the experience.

The floorboards creak and his head snaps up. Charlie is watching him from the door, his expression soft, troubled.

"Water," he says, holding up the glass before setting it down on the nearest bedside table.

Sherlock nods, frozen and unsure what to do next. 

"Come back to bed," Charlie calls softly, holding out a hand.

Sherlock hesitates for a moment, then pulls his T-shirt back on and heads for the bed. He sits on the edge and Charlie passes him the glass. He takes a few sips, to be polite, before setting it down again. 

He lays down on his side, turned away from Charlie. Expectation weighs heavily on him.

Charlie’s hand rests on his hip hesitantly, and Sherlock can feel his warmth seeping across the small distance. 

"You can tell me anything, you know," Charlie says quietly. 

Sherlock swallows hard. He hesitates, torn between wanting to hide and wanting to share. Finally, he speaks up, deflecting. "Thank you."

Charlie waits several beats longer, then his hand slips away with a little squeeze. "Right. Night then, Sherlock."

Charlie rolls over and Sherlock knows with certainty that he has done something wrong. He frowns, but before he can even attempt to make it right, he hears a faint snore from Charlie. He’s already asleep. Agitated though he is, it isn’t long before sleep pulls Sherlock under once more.

*

When Sherlock wakes, the bed next to him is empty. He frowns and climbs out of bed, pulling on his dressing gown and slipping out into the hallway. He can hear movement in the kitchen and he finds Charlie propped against the worktop, downing his tea. The tension is impossible to miss and Charlie won’t quite meet his eyes.

"Morning. Sorry, I’ve got to get off to work."

Sherlock draws his gown more tightly around him. "Of course."

"Kettle’s only just boiled, if you want tea." Charlie does not offer to make it, and Sherlock moves towards the kettle, Charlie stepping out of the way.

"I’d best be off."

"Okay."

"We still on for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" Sherlock echoes, turning towards him, and regrets it when Charlie's expression drops even more.

"My sister’s birthday."

"Of course. Yes."

"We’ll meet you at the restaurant. I’ll text you the details."

"Okay." Sherlock feels like the floor is slipping out from underneath him.

"Right."

Sherlock looks up and Charlie hesitates a moment longer before stepping forward and pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek. "See you later."

He’s gone before Sherlock can say anything, and Sherlock feels a little bit sick. This is why he’s never bothered with relationships before - too many chances to get it all completely wrong. He sighs and, abandoning the tea, returns to his bedroom, where he flops down on the bed and lets out a little groan.

*

"Everything alright, Sherlock?" 

Sherlock looks up from where he sits with Phoebe, holding her steady as she sits playing with a soft cube with all sorts of colourful attachments. John is watching him from the sofa, Mary reading a book next to him. She looks up as well, eyes flicking over Sherlock. The joint power of their gaze causes him to look away.

"Fine."

"Very convincing," Mary jokes.

Sherlock purses his lips, his attention fixed on Phoebe, who turns and waves her toy at him, giggling. 

"It’s nothing," he says hesitantly, but it’s very tempting to seek answers. They both have years of experience on him.

"Trouble in paradise?" Mary asks, and Sherlock looks up quickly. She gives him a gentle smile. "Obviously not a case," she says, in explanation.

Sherlock frowns, deeply uncomfortable. He turns back to Phoebe. "I may have... upset Charlie."

There is a moment’s silence from the sofa. "What did you do?" John asks carefully.

Sherlock sighs and passes Phoebe another toy as she reaches out for it.

"I think perhaps... I wasn't as forthcoming as he hoped."

"About anything in particular?" John asks.

"Just something that happened in my past."

John hums. "Well, y’know, Sherlock, err... sometimes we keep secrets from the people we care about for a good reason." 

Sherlock doesn't miss the lightning-fast glance John throws at his wife - he’s no stranger to secrets, after all. Mary reaches out and gives his hand an almost imperceptible squeeze.

"It’s not that it’s a secret, per se. Just something I’d prefer not to talk about."

"Well, you just need to be honest with him," Mary says, "And don’t give me that look. I speak as someone who made the mistake of not being honest. I’m sure Charlie will understand."

Sherlock hums, turning his attention back to Phoebe. "Thank you," he murmurs.

John clears his throat awkwardly. "Never thought I’d see the day when we’d be giving Sherlock Holmes dating advice."

"Given your vast dating experience, I suppose you might be called an expert in this case."

Mary snorts in amusement.

"That’s not to say that you haven’t made some egregious mistakes."

"Yes, thank you," John says.

Sherlock checks his watch. "If I leave now, I should be able to catch Charlie as he’s finishing work."

He whisks Phoebe off the floor, much to her amusement, and deposits her on the sofa with her parents. 

"Our Sherlock’s all grown up," Mary teases. Sherlock narrows his eyes at her, but she just grins.

"Go get him, tiger," John says with a wink.

"You’re both ridiculous."

They share a grin as Sherlock pulls on his coat and gloves, before addressing Phoebe.

"Keep an eye on your ridiculous parents."

She babbles at him and he strokes a hand over her hair, before straightening and bidding farewell.

*

Sherlock lingers in the lobby of Charlie’s workplace, fiddling with his phone. It startles him when an incoming message causes it to vibrate just a few seconds later. It’s from Lestrade.

**I need you. Missing four-year-old boy.**

Sherlock hesitates, torn. He checks his watch again. It’s about Charlie’s usual finishing time, but he could stay on longer for any number of reasons. He looks at the text again, before letting out a groan. Talking to Charlie will have to wait.

He’s on his feet and heading for the door when he hears his name.

"Sherlock!"

He stops and turns to find Charlie crossing the lobby towards him. Charlie finally reaches him, and some of the awkward tension from earlier this morning returns.

"What are you doing here?" Charlie asks.

"I... I wanted to speak to you. About last night."

"No, look, I’m sorry," Charlie cuts in. "I’ve been a dick."

Sherlock’s eyes widen in surprise. 

"I had no right to expect anything. If you want to tell me, some day, that’s fine. And if you don’t... that’s fine too."

"So you’re not...upset?"

"No." Charlie gives him a lopsided smile. "I’m just sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

"Of course." Sherlock feels relief flooding through him.

Charlie’s smile widens and he reaches out to brush a hand over Sherlock’s arm. "Do you fancy dinner, since you’re here?"

It’s then Sherlock remembers the text from Lestrade. "I can’t. I have a case." On an impulse, he reaches out for Charlie. "Come with me."

"Come with you? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I won’t be in the way?" 

"Of course not."

Sherlock already has his phone out, texting Lestrade to find out the address. When he looks up, Charlie is watching him fondly.

"Alright, let’s go. I can’t wait to see you in action."

They head out into the street and Sherlock hails a taxi, and as they’re climbing in he calls out the address he’s just received from Lestrade. Charlie settles next to him, his knee pressed to Sherlock’s. Sherlock presses back, just slightly, and he can see Charlie smiling out of the corner of his eye as Charlie rests his hand on Sherlock’s leg. Relief floods through him once more.

*

Out of respect for the worried family, the scene is a small one, with only two police cars parked out front of the terraced house, one of them Lestrade’s unmarked car. Sherlock and Charlie climb out of the taxi and head towards the house. Lestrade meets them at the door, gaze flicking to Charlie and back to Sherlock again.

"Problem?" Sherlock asks.

Lestrade sighs. "No." He turns and nods at Charlie. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Dawson."

"Charlie, please," Charlie says amiably. "And please do let me know if I’m intruding, I don’t want to be any trouble."

"It’s fine," Lestrade says, somewhat unconvincingly. 

"Good. Shall we?" Sherlock says, gesturing inside. "Bring me up to speed."

"Four-year-old boy, James Brooking, gone missing. Mum went to pick him up from nursery, but they said he’d been picked up by his uncle."

"Seems pretty straightforward."

"His uncle's on holiday in Thailand."

"Hmm. Any suspects?"

"We're working through it now with the parents."

Lestrade pauses at the entrance to the kitchen and takes Sherlock by the arm. "Best behaviour, alright?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Yes. Just let me get on with it."

The distraught parents are in the kitchen, red-eyed and lost-looking as Sally Donovan stands watch. She nods in greeting, and gives Charlie a long, curious look.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brooking," Lestrade starts, "This is Sherlock Holmes."

"I've heard of you," Mr. Brooking says quickly. "You'll find James, won't you?"

"I'll certainly do my best," Sherlock promises. "Now, I need you to think very carefully about anyone who might want to get back at you through James."

The Brookings exchange a look, then Mrs. Brooking speaks up, voice hoarse from crying. "There is... I mean, he wouldn't, surely -"

"Sam," her husband says gently, encouraging her to continue.

"My ex," she finally says, "Colin Rogers. We had a nasty break-up just after James was born."

"I hope you don't mind me asking, Mrs. Brooking, but is he James' biological father?" Lestrade asks carefully. 

"No," she says, flushing. "My husband is."

"And have you had any contact with him recently?"

"He’s always ringing up," she explains. "He won’t leave us alone."

Lestrade frowns. "Do you have contact details?"

Mrs. Brooking nods and scoots off her stool to retrieve her handbag, rifling through it and pulling out an address book. She finds the right entry and passes it over to Lestrade, who hands it to Sally. Sally nods and heads out, calling to the constable by the door to come with her.

Sherlock wanders out into the hallway, turning the facts of the case over in his head. A hand on his arm draws his attention back to the present. Charlie smiles at him. "What are you thinking?"

"I’m thinking it’s too straightforward."

"Really? You don't think it was the ex?"

"We'll find out soon enough."

"So what happens now?" Charlie asks. 

"I need to talk to the people at the nursery." He spins round and hurries back into the kitchen, pulling Lestrade aside to get details of the nursery worker who claimed to have sent James off with his uncle. 

Lestrade passes over the information, with some reluctance, and Sherlock grins as they head out of the house.

*

The nursery worker is a ridiculously bad liar, twitching and flushing as Sherlock asks even simple questions. At one point, he and Charlie share a look and even Charlie looks surprised by her behaviour. How she got through a police statement is anyone’s guess.

"Well, thank you, Miss Cooper," Sherlock finally says, rising to his feet. "You’ve been very helpful."

Charlie gives him a puzzled look, but follows him out without question. At the kerb, Sherlock lets out a noise of excitement and pulls his phone from his pocket.

"What?" Charlie asks, watching him closely. "Have you worked it out?"

"I think so." He dials Lestrade's number, and Lestrade answers after only two rings. "Ah, Lestrade. I trust Rogers was a dead-end?"

"How did you know?"

"Obvious. Now, Mr. Brooking, he works at a garden centre, am I right?"

"I don’t know."

"Okay, let me rephrase. Mr. Brooking works at a garden centre. Find me the address."

He hangs up before Lestrade can say anything else. Charlie is watching him with bewilderment. Sherlock grins, grabs him by the neck and presses a hard kiss to his lips.

"What was that for?" Charlie asks, lips twitching with amusement, hands settling on Sherlock's hips.

"I love a good case."

"This is a good one, is it?"

"It’s only a five, but it’s a good five."

Charlie frowns in confusion as Sherlock pulls away and flags down a passing taxi. "You have a scale to rank cases?"

"Of course."

Charlie shakes his head and laughs, following Sherlock into the taxi that pulls up. Lestrade calls a moment later, giving them the address they need, and Sherlock directs the taxi towards the garden centre.

They find the boy in one of the sheds at the back of the lot, happily playing away with a car. He’s wearing only a thin jacket, despite the cold conditions. He looks up at them in surprise. 

"Hello, James," Sherlock says softly, crouching down to be less threatening. Charlie hangs back, still staring in shock. 

"Who are you?"

"My name's Sherlock. I'm a detective."

"A 'tective?"

"Yes. Your mummy asked me to find you."

The boy frowns. "Daddy told me to stay here until he came back."

"I know," Sherlock says, even as he hears Charlie take a sharp intake of breath. "But your mummy misses you."

"She does?"

"And the police are coming to take you home."

"I can go in a p’lice car?" James asks excitedly.

"Yes, if you want to."

The wail of sirens announces Lestrade's arrival and the boy’s eyes go wide with excitement. He stands up, abandoning his car and rushing to the door.

"Over here," Charlie shouts to the approaching policemen, Lestrade bringing up the rear. When Lestrade reaches them, he shakes his head, before putting a call through to Sally.

"Sally, we’ve got him."

A female police officer wraps James up in a blanket, gently coaxing him out of the shed, but he stops, reaching out for Sherlock. "Are you coming?"

"I’ll be right behind you," Sherlock reassures him. When the boy moves out of earshot, Sherlock looks up at Lestrade. "Don't let Mr. Brooking go anywhere."

Lestrade passes on the instructions, then points at Sherlock. "In the car now. I want an explanation."

As they make the short trip back to the Brookings house, Sherlock explains the vital clues: Miss Cooper's poor acting skills, the smudge of mud on Mr. Brooking's hand and the small spot of dark hair dye at his hairline, Miss Cooper’s beautifully-tended garden. 

"Yes, but what does that all mean?" Lestrade cuts in, exasperated.

"It means Mr. Brooking and Miss Cooper are having an affair. He’s never believed that the child is his, not with Rogers sniffing around and the crossover in dates. He wanted to teach his wife a lesson."

"Alright. But who picked up the kid from school?"

"Mr. Brooking. With a little bit of temporary hair dye, he could pass for his older brother. And of course, Miss Cooper was only too happy to vouch for him and convince the other workers that he was the older Mr. Brooking, who'd picked James up only a few times before."

Lestrade shakes his head. "Damn it."

"Amazing," Charlie murmurs, his tone filled with awe. Sherlock turns to face him, and feels himself flush under the heat of Charlie's gaze.

They pull up at the Brooking house and the boy is soon reunited with his mother, even as his father is taken away in the same car he was brought home in. Sherlock hangs back, watching the proceedings from a distance. 

"I can't believe he’d do that to a child just to spite his wife," Charlie says, leaning on the car next to Sherlock. 

"Some people have a certain penchant for the nastiest kind of vengeance."

"Poor kid. Thank God he wasn’t hurt. If he’d been there all night, in this weather..." Charlie draws his coat a bit tighter around himself.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asks.

Charlie gives him a wan smile. "I’m fine. Just... a little sickened by humanity right now."

Sherlock nods. "You become immune, after a while."

"I don't think you do, do you?" Charlie asks meaningfully. "I saw your face when you opened that door and saw that boy."

"I don’t know what you mean."

Charlie laughs lightly, his hand skimming over Sherlock's. "You don't need to pretend with me. I know you're a big softie, really."

Sherlock gives him a look of offended surprise. "I am not."

"I don't believe you." Charlie smiles softly, turning further towards him. "In fact, I’ve been doing a little deducing of my own."

"And?"

"And... I think you worry that showing emotion means being weak, so you spend all your time stamping down on it." He pauses, his fingers ghosting over Sherlock's. "And I’m not just talking about your professional life."

Sherlock turns his head, unable to hold Charlie's gaze anymore.

"This is who I am," he says tightly.

"It's one version of who you are." Charlie tugs on his hand, drawing him back. "I'm not saying it's all bad. Some of the things you have to deal with... I just want you to know that you can be yourself with me."

They share a long look, and Sherlock's fingers twine almost unconsciously around Charlie's. They both startle as a throat is cleared just a few feet away. Sherlock goes to pull his hand away from Charlie's, but then reconsiders and leaves it where it is.

"Lestrade."

"You can go now, if you want, but I’ll need a statement tomorrow."

"Very well."

"Good." Lestrade’s eyes drop to their joined hands and shoot back up again. "See you tomorrow."

He moves away and Sherlock turns back to Charlie. "Dinner?"

"I’m not hungry," Charlie answers with a heated look.

Sherlock stares at him for several long moments, before tugging him towards the main road in search of a taxi.

*

They crash through the door of the flat and Sherlock hurries to pull off his coat and gloves as Charlie shucks out of his own coat, dropping it to the floor as he leans back against the door. Sherlock discards his coat and surges forward, pinning Charlie against the door and kissing him hungrily. Charlie moans and his hands start plucking at the buttons of Sherlock's suit jacket. 

Sherlock shrugs out of his jacket and moves back in, ducking his head to press his mouth to Charlie’s neck. He tastes of sweat and aftershave, and Sherlock laves at his pulse-point with his tongue. Charlie's hands meanwhile are moving to his shirt buttons.

"You were absolutely stunning today," Charlie breathes, slowly undoing the buttons with steady hands.

Sherlock kisses him again, his own hands going to Charlie's shirt. He is a little clumsier, but soon they are both stripped to the waist. 

"Bedroom," Sherlock gets out, his voice husky. 

Charlie leads the way, heading into the bedroom and sitting on the end of bed. He pulls Sherlock close by the hips, and presses his hot mouth to the front of Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock lets out a helpless moan, but guides Charlie backwards with gentle hands.

Charlie looks up at him, questioning, and Sherlock drops smoothly to his knees, hands planted on Charlie's thighs. Charlie passes a hand over his cheek, smiling, then bends and kisses him gently. As he does so, Sherlock reaches out to undo his zip and draws his cock out carefully. Charlie hums into his mouth and slides his hands into Sherlock's hair, and Sherlock draws away and bends to mouth at the head of his cock.

Charlie groans. "God."

Sherlock tried this once before - a long time ago now - and it was not unpleasant, but everything he’s tried so far with Charlie has exceeded all expectations. He hollows his mouth and takes Charlie in, gently licking at the underside. Charlie gasps, his fingers gently twining around Sherlock’s curls.

Sherlock looks up under his eyelashes as he swallows Charlie down again and Charlie curses, one hand cupping Sherlock's cheek.

"God, that looks..." he trails off as Sherlock sucks him harder. "Your mouth."

Sherlock gives a smile around Charlie’s cock and his eyes flutter closed as he licks his way down again. He lets his fingers circle the base as he sets up a steady rhythm, and Charlie moves ever so slightly with him.

"Sherlock," Charlie gets out in a ragged voice some time later, "Get up here."

Sherlock releases him with a faint pop and pushes up off his knees as Charlie drags him into his lap and kisses him hard. Sherlock licks into his mouth and Charlie draws him back onto the bed, one hand hooked around his neck and the other fumbling with the fastening of Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock draws away just long enough to help him, kicking out of his trousers as Charlie does the same. 

When they come together, slick skin sliding against slick skin, they both let out a moan. Charlie smiles and pulls Sherlock back into a kiss as Sherlock reaches down to wrap his hand around them both. There are benefits to having long, violinist's fingers, and the noise Charlie makes when Sherlock’s grasp brings their cocks together is one of them. 

Charlie draws away with a low moan, arching into the contact, his eyes locked on Sherlock’s. The way his eyelids flutter with every slight twist of Sherlock’s fingers makes Sherlock feel all-powerful, a hundred feet tall. 

Sherlock lets his fingers trail lower, just brushing over Charlie’s sac and down to his perineum, and Charlie’s eyes go wide. "Tease," he gasps, eyes bright and affectionate.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, but Charlie’s meaning soon becomes clear. Sherlock’s rhythm falters and Charlie laughs lightly, squeezing the back of Sherlock’s neck.

"Something to think about for the future."

Sherlock tightens his hand around their cocks again, but he can’t get the idea out of his head. So many things he hasn’t even considered, restrained as he is by his limited experience. 

"You’re thinking too hard," Charlie says, his hand slipping down to join Sherlock’s. The touch on his cock jerks Sherlock back to the present and he bucks into it, rubbing against Charlie. He thinks of putting his fingers inside Charlie, putting his cock inside and- oh, his cock throbs at the thought. 

He moans and twists his hand, any kind of finesse lost as sensation floods through him. Charlie’s hand wraps tightly around his, the heat and pressure overwhelming.

"Yes," Charlie gasps. "Yes. God, I’m there, I’m...Fuck."

Charlie groans, low and long, and comes all over their joined hands. Sherlock follows only a few seconds later, his whole body seizing up in pleasure, every thought wiped momentarily from his mind. 

Sherlock sags, resting over Charlie, head pressed to his collarbone as he tries to catch his breath. Charlie passes a hand gently over his hair.

"Alright?"

Sherlock nods, rubbing his nose against the sharp jut of Charlie’s collarbone. He flicks his tongue out, tasting, cataloguing. Tired though he is, the taste of Charlie, musky and warm, sends fire through his veins; he can’t get enough, wants to do it all again, do it differently. 

"What are you thinking?" 

Sherlock presses his tongue to the dip of Charlie’s throat and Charlie arches his neck. 

"I want you- I want everything. I want to touch you, and taste you, and I want to fuck you." He falters only slightly over the word 'fuck'. "I’ve never... It’s never been like this, never."

Charlie guides Sherlock up to look at him, his gaze warm and open. "You can have anything."

Sherlock’s head spins with all the possibilities. 

"Anything," Charlie repeats, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, and Sherlock can feel his lips curving into a smile beneath Sherlock's. "Just as soon as I’ve got my breath back."

Sherlock laughs and when Charlie shoves at him, he rolls onto his back. Charlie props himself up on one elbow, studying him intently. His expression softens, just slightly, and there’s something like fear there. 

"Sherlock... I..." He trails off, then shakes his head, smiling instead. He runs a hand down Sherlock’s chest. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

"You might have mentioned it once or twice," Sherlock says, wondering what Charlie stopped himself from saying. 

"Arse," Charlie admonishes fondly, leaving in to kiss him, before dipping his mouth to Sherlock’s ear. "Tell me more about these ideas you have."

Sherlock draws him instead into a kiss.

*

In the darkness just before dawn, awoken by a dream he can’t remember and an erection so hard it almost hurts, Sherlock takes Charlie apart with his fingers and mouth and makes a mess all over the bed. Then they sleep a little longer, until the winter’s sun starts to peek its way through the open curtains. They share a shower and get dressed in easy silence, smiling warmly everytime their eyes meet.

They make breakfast, or at least Charlie does, somehow finding enough ingredients for an omelette, and Sherlock watches him with interest as he moves around the kitchen with easy confidence. 

"Do you want to do drinks?" Charlie prompts when he’s almost finished, and Sherlock jumps into action. As Charlie slides the finished omelettes onto two plate, Sherlock finishes the tea.

Charlie sets the plates on the table and then turns to Sherlock. Sherlock passes him his mug, but Charlie draws him close, pressing his mouth to Sherlock's neck. 

"I wish I could spend every morning like this."

Sherlock leans into his touch.

"You could always move in." He says it without even really thinking.

Charlie freezes and pulls away with a little laugh. "What?"

"Well, there’s plenty of space," Sherlock says uncertainly. "It makes sense."

Charlie smiles softly. "Sherlock, I love you, but I think it's a little too soon for moving in together, don't you?"

Sherlock barely hears the last part. "You... What?"

Charlie goes very still when he realises what he's said, but then - just as quickly - he smiles and draws Sherlock close, one hand drifting across his cheek and twining in his hair.

"I love you."

"You... Really?"

"Yes. I’ve been trying to stop myself saying it. I don't want to scare you off."

Sherlock blinks. He cannot think of a single thing to say. And then he wonders if Charlie expects him to say it back.

"You don’t need to say it back," Charlie says, as if reading his mind. "Not until you want to."

Sherlock blinks again and Charlie laughs, but there’s a hint of nervousness there. "Sherlock? Are you okay?"

"I’m... Yes. Yes, of course."

Charlie gives him a long look, then smiles. "Good. You’d better eat your omelette before it gets cold."

He presses a kiss to Sherlock’s lips then moves away to sit at the other side of the table. Sherlock lowers himself into his chair, still staring at Charlie, who grins. "I never thought I could shut you up so spectacularly. I’ll remember that."

"I... I wasn’t expecting..." He trails off, not knowing what it is he wants to say. Charlie reaches over to take his hand.

"I know. But it turns out I'm a sucker for the charms of Sherlock Holmes... And his magical hands." Charlie winks and Sherlock flushes, but his cock twitches at the memory of Charlie’s heat around his fingers, and Charlie letting out helpless gasps as he explodes in Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock fancies he can still taste him now.

"Thinking about it again?"

"I can’t help it," Sherlock admits. He’s not used to having so little control over his own body.

Charlie laughs and squeezes his hand, but his eyes when they meet Sherlock’s are dark with desire. "Eat your breakfast and we’ll work through a few more of your ideas."

Sherlock holds his gaze for a long time, then pounces on his breakfast with more impatience than hunger.


End file.
